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Monika recalls the émigré that happened 30 years ago when Kashmiri Pandits were forced to flee from the land of their birth, in this poem. She portrays the agony, exclusively for Different Truths.
It was a sombre dawn.
From the terminus, the bus
Slowly started trundling,
Heavy with the load;
Burden of loss and apathy.
Everyone awake,
Yet asleep.
All eyes rheumy
Grief mixed with blood
Rushing in the veins.
The zigzag road
Seemed to approach nowhere;
Time stood standstill
Gazing at the commuters.
The worn-out engine vroomed inertly
Keeping the driver little wary.
Curvy vale failed to bring
The zing in the passenger’s eyes.
Disappearing miles were
Carrying off the solace
But furnishing fear for the unknown.
Few grieving
For the place they left,
Some praying
For the better times ahead.
Bleak and undecided was the end,
They were making way towards.
After a nauseating journey,
Finally, the bus stopped
Howling at the final stop.
Shaky feet at last
Touched the even macadam.
Some kept crying,
Few looked confused.
Mothers cocooned
Their younger ones.
Fathers clueless yet resolute.
Thousand questions
Knocking at the mind.
Will we…?
Can we…?
Should we…?
All had arrived at
A destination,
A stirring forbidden land.
Now, Home was a faraway dream…
Photo from the Internet
